I did not plan on starting this post by mentioning that I got stuck in hellish traffic on the way to Jersey and missed the first fifteen minutes of the opening set. I was going to gloss over the whole embarrassing affair, until I went back to my car at the end of the night and found it had been booted by the Hoboken Police, right there on Frank Sinatra Drive (residential zone — no visitors please!). Suddenly I saw some relevance, or at least a narrative arc, in my trials surrounding the eighth and final night of Yo La Tengo’s 2011 Hanukkah shows at Maxwell’s. Getting stuck behind two morons who crashed rather than merge before entering the Holland Tunnel, and then getting whacked at the end of the night for parking on an isolated street near a popular “tourist” bar — these are the trials of daily life, the grind that wears on us all (and Glenn Mercer got the boot too — now that is just rude, Mr. Po-Po). And the rest of my night, spent surrounded by family and friends, good food, strong drinks, and magical music — that is what holiday celebrations are supposed to be all about, finding the strength to face the daily struggles in the embrace of our loved ones.

If I push the analogy a bit further, these (almost) yearly celebrations that the band host each December are, like most holidays, about gathering together your nearest and dearest and stopping time for just a moment, to revel in what really matters in life, with the people who mean the most to you. These are concerts, with paid admission (but all for charity — tonight the local Oasis Women and Children’s Resource Center) and no naps on the couch (well, maybe for the band), but each night, the stage and the audience is filled with familiar faces, old friends and new ones to meet, all from the extended YLT family. And if we are a family, it stands to reason that Ira is our patriarch; beginning this year’s festivities with the announcement that dad had been sick, and these shows would somehow be different, only heightened the emotion of the week, as the family pulled together to face one more of life’s indignities together.

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

Anyway I did finally make it in to the show, and the Trypes were playing to a packed room on their home stage. I’ll admit I was not familiar with the band — I love the Feelies, but I’m a few years too young and from the wrong side of the river to be deeply involved with all of their finer details. The Trypes are a related band who recorded a four-song EP (The Explorers Hold) with Bill Million and Glenn Mercer during the hiatus between the first two Feelies records, and they included most of the Feelies/Yung Wu/etc. scene at one point or another during their exhilarating return to the Maxwell’s stage. Nearly thirty years on, this was a shambling group that usually had five or six folks on stage, delivering a loose and joyful set full of melodic piano, layers of guitar, woodwinds, and loads of percussion — they surely did not sound like they dusted off the cobwebs for this show, and other than some lyric crib sheets up front, I would have thought for sure this was a regular gig. Their sound obviously had some of the Feelies bucolic sprawl, but it was less precise, more communal, and somehow seasonally appropriate, with many voices and a droney, percussive sound that dove into the small intersection of the Velvet Underground’s first album and Moondog’s madrigals without losing its jangle. There was a sort of raw spirituality to their set that electrified the crowd and the band alike. The Trypes closed their show with an encore-caliber mini-set, bringing Ira on stage with his acoustic for a killer version of “The Undertow” and George Harrison’s sitar jam “Love You To” from Revolver.

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

After some between-set music from Georgia’s own mix CD, and some gear shuffling on stage, including the appearance of a large video screen and projector, Ira took the stage to introduce the night’s comedic entertainment, none other than Chris Elliott! Nobody knew what to expect — Elliott has been one of the funniest personalities on TV (and in film, print, etc.) since he first appeared on Late Night With David Letterman in the mid-’80s, but he is not known for standup. Sure enough, after some banter with Ira (I believe he told his starry-eyed host to “shut the fuck up”), Elliott promptly sat down and played a hilarious clip from his current Adult Swim show Eagleheart — a bold move asking a club crowd to watch TV, but at least up front, it was a hit. For the rest of you, I strongly recommend setting the DVR for this one; it is a great new turn from a comedy genius. Elliott was then joined by all of YLT for a pretty stunning version of Neil Diamond’s “I Am… I Said,” a bona fide Hanukkah song by Yo La Tengo’s somewhat loose standards. Elliott belted at least one verse directly to his chair, who for the record did seem to be listening, remaining coy when Elliott started to make out with it. Ira, who planned on sitting in said chair the rest of the night, only smiled.

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

Another brief interlude of Georgia’s mix, and the band took the stage again, this time without Chris Elliott, but joined by longtime compatriot and top-shelf axeman Rick Rizzo (of Eleventh Dream Day), who sat in with Yo La for more than half the set, as well as John Baumgartner from the Trypes, who played accordion on a couple, including a stellar, swooning version of “I Threw It All Away.” Three songs in, they lurched into a rocked-up take on another holiday classic YLT-style, VU by way of Roky Erickson’s “Heroin” which, I must say, gave me pause so early in the set — how do you follow that one, especially while seated (I will say Ira had fully mastered seated guitar shredding by night three or so). My fears were unfounded (of course), as there is nobody working a stage these days who can pace a set like Yo La Tengo. Over the course of the week (I saw four shows this season) I’d seen them play hushed melancholia, crisp pop and stomping noise-rock, sometimes all in one set, but even with Ira’s supposed “limitations” this year, this band always knows how to send the fans sprawling, and then reel them in again. They took advantage of Rizzo’s pealing feedback, but my favorite moment may have been when they closed out his portion with a near-acoustic take on “Big Day Coming.”

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

Glenn Mercer hopped on stage for an oldie (but goodie), “The Empty Pool” from YLT’s debut Ride The Tiger (actually originally a Yung Wu song written by Mercer’s bandmate Dave Weckerman), and they moved into the home stretch with “From a Motel 6,” eventually winding down with “I Heard You Looking,” followed by a fan favorite, Georgia’s version of Big Star’s “Take Care.” Is Alex Chilton Jewish, or do these guys just love him? After a short break, the band returned for the encore, but not before Ira took a moment to thank everyone who had stepped up to make these shows possible – a typical (and always heartfelt) shout-out to all the behind-the-scenes folks and legions of special guests who make an event like this happen. This year though, in light of Ira’s health scare, and the different shape these shows took in its wake (Ira seated, slightly mellower sets, extra guitar support on stage from many of the band’s longtime BFFs), this seemed like a truly special moment to pause and reflect. I’m pretty sure I saw James get a little choked up, and I’ll admit that I did; it is always magical seeing this band in their element, but this year, realizing how they pulled together and made what could have been (maybe was) a harrowing and supremely challenging experience seem so effortless, so special and so pure, surrounded by the family and friends that mean the most in hard times — yes, we’re back to our theme — was truly inspirational. Turns out you can rise above; in my case, all it took was a $100 Boot Fee and a $50 Paylock Fee, plus the parking ticket — how Yo La Tengo does it, I’ll never know.

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

Anyway, they bust into the iconic “Blue Line Swinger,” the ultimate freight-train-leaving-the-station crowd mover and for many years the band’s perennial set closer, followed by one more that simply could not be followed: Ira’s mom singing “My Little Corner of the World.” Ira yanked the plug on the menorah, and that’s all she wrote. This is all I wrote: happy holidays to all of you, thanks YLT for a great week, and please love your friends and family — they are crazy, but they’re all you got!

Every year in this metropolis it is the same thing: the relentless yammering of the Jews and Hanukkah. After six nights of it, even my lapsed Catholicism has lapsed. I find myself hankering for a conversion. I’m starting to read Hebrew on people’s arms. Is it possible to bite down hard enough on my tongue to redirect the pain of a conversion bris? I want this. Six nights of Hanukkah before considering my conversion may not seem like much of a triumph. It is. In years gone by it has happened by night three.

But then I was walloped coming back from a Boxing Day visit to the Christmas Tree at Rockefeller Plaza. What could be less Jewish than that? Besides Amar’e Stoudemire?

While standing on Fifth Avenue trying to figure out the panels at the top of the French Building, a kid came up to me and asked if I was Jewish. I said, God no. He said, Sorry. I said, Look this is really too much — can’t I just celebrate the birth of my goddamned Savior without you guys spilling your Jew oil all over my Yule log? Of course you can’t say that to someone. So I escaped into the nearest store. It was a jeans shop called Levi’s.

I tasted blood on my tongue.

I woke up. My phone was ringing.

It was the office asking me to make an investigation at Maxwell’s in Hoboken. I am an insurance-claim investigator. I make reports, other people make the money. I think you know who.

The boss told me that the backroom of Maxwell’s has had the roof raised and/or blown off for six nights in a row. Another report had an elderly lady dancing on a chair covered with jackets. Who knew what else was going on? It warranted an investigation. That’s where I come in.

It was 8:30 p.m. when I came in and found a fairly well-behaved capacity crowd. I did a quick fire capacity calculation. Well within Maxwell’s posted limits. I complimented the man keeping the door. He said, I love this place and I’d hate to see even the most wicked person get hurt on my watch.

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

A band came on stage, sporting long hair, sweaters and flannel. Alarm bells of insurance risk rang. These guys looked like smokers and drinkers, and probably all held ill-gotten medical marijuana cards (my educated guess: monthly health insurance premiums as high as their blood pressure or their sugar levels.) They called themselves Kurt Vile and the Violators — no doubt most of the audience did, too. Opening their set with a The Feelies song displayed survival instincts rare for nearly-2012.

The song choice won over the audience, and if it didn’t (it did) then the primal chug of the guitars and drums did the work, moving the audience away from workaday concerns. Like a good neighbor, you were in good hands with Kurt Vile and the Violators. They stuck mostly to songs from their outstanding 2011 release Smoke Ring for My Halo. The set was architecturally perfect, dropping us back onto street level, if not a bit lower, with “Peeping Tomboy” and “Society Is My Friend.” Hearing them play was not enough for my report. I did something natural to me, but that seems to be a lost art in the investigation field. I call it the face-to-face. An interview. I spoke to the guitar player. He was busy packing up his instrument.

Q: Can I have a set list?A: Oh yeah sure.Q, but not really a Q: That was great.A: Thanks.Q: Can I get you a beer or something?A: Yeah, and for John, too.Q: Busted.A: What?Q: I cannot recommend you for an insurance policy.A: Eh?

It is rare to be in such an open mood during an investigation. I blame Kurt Vile and the Violators. Insurance policy or not, I can tell you this, if they come to your city you have to see them. There are enough things in life that will make you feel bad and most of them cling to you with no consideration of their weight. Kurt Vile and the Violators make joyful music and they do it in a way that looks effortless, looks cool. Some of it will become part of you. It won’t solve any of your problems, but for a little while it will seem like it did.

There was an intermission.

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

When it ended, a comedian stepped on stage. Laughter is not the best medicine. Sometimes it is the only medicine. The comedian Leo Allen wasted no time in showing historical cases supporting this theory. To an insurance-claim investigator historical cases are the best medicine. He looked healthy, proportioned properly for height and weight, probably not going to get sick anytime soon. He told us the interesting tale of Giles Corey, maybe the first person to use sarcasm in America, and surely the only one pressed to death for warlocking. The sarcasm came when the Salem authorities gave Corey a chance to get out from under the weight of boards and rocks — he just had to confess. Instead, Corey said, More Weight. The audience exploded into laughter. The roof held its form, maybe a few ceiling panels lifted but they reset quickly. Leo Allen seized on our curiosity, telling a story about joining a 12-step program for finding lost objects. His lost object was a pepper grinder. He found salvation through Professor Solomon’s website. Leo Allen said that Step One was Keep Calm and that he located his pepper grinder on Step Two. My research shows it was actually Step Four. Leo Allen’s reaction to locating his pepper grinder underscores my discovery. He did not keep calm. He shattered the pepper grinder against his kitchen wall. Mixing up the steps — clearly, Leo Allen was never calm. I would’ve loved a face-to-face with Leo Allen but he had disappeared downstairs.

A brief intermission happened here. At the end of the intermission, I noticed a familiar, depressing site. Another insurance-claim investigator — beautiful, tall, well-dressed, and a much better investigator than I can ever dream of becoming. He shined his flashlight on the floor and against the walls, and he moved people aside, seemingly investigating the splatter patterns of beer on the floor.

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

Yo La Tengo took the stage with Special Guest Dave Schramm joining them on guitar. Dave was playing with Yo La Tengo before there was a Yo La Tengo. When he joins them he works as a sort of an oil gauge to see how the engine is holding up. It is always wonderful.

Yo La Tengo is never shy about digging deep in to The Grotto of Songs, but tonight they went deeper, they went into their genizah. Songs that haven’t seen the light of any menorah were dug up and played as if 25 years ago were yesterday. Use that as a great reason to maintain your friendships, more than a facebook update, I mean. That thing back there, the past, doesn’t have to be locked away. All it takes to unlock it is the comfort and confidence provided by friends. What’s the new saying, Time is the thing that stops everything from happening at once.

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

There were many highlights. Here are just a few.

James might argue differently but he wasn’t on stage to deliver one-liners. He delivered them though, especially before “I Can Hear Music.” I hadn’t heard such laughter in Maxwell’s since Leo Allen’s set. No smiles disappeared during the song. James sang it so sweetly, I am sure you will agree.

Shortly thereafter “The Cone of Silence” was played. It filled me with wonder. I am shallow, two questions filled me.

1) Who has played this song more times live, James or Dave?
Dave was there when it was a staple of set lists. James has him on longevity.B) What happened to the insurance investigator angle?
The guy with the flashlight takes his job seriously. His investigation report will outshine mine. His company will outdo mine. That’s fine — at least I was able to relax and enjoy the music, unlike that guy.

Maybe my favorite Yo La Tengo song is “I Feel Like Going Home.” I’ve watched Georgia sing it in far-flung, miserable places when I considered it a definite plea for a tour to be called on account of heavy mental weather. Tonight’s rendition had none of those outside, probably invented connotations. And besides, if she really wanted to, she could step off the stage and walk home. That would have been awkward. The audience would’ve followed her home, we were entranced. To save us all a long walk, the room went quiet. Hushed. Dave on guitar allowed Ira to play piano, in a vibraphone setting. If this version of the song became the soundtrack for a commercial, I would have way too many of whatever is the product.

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

Very Special Guest Peter Stampfel joined Yo La Tengo featuring Special Guest Dave Schramm. They started with Peter’s song “Griselda.” Peter’s voice sounds like no other. If more singers had as much joy in their voices as Peter does, the world would be a friendly place.

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

Peter stayed on for a few more numbers, singing, popping and locking, sending out rainbows from his iridescent violin bow. Peter’s work was done with “Mr. Tough.”

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

Yo La Tengo featuring Dave Schramm wound to a finish with a few more choice picks from the genizah. No fools Yo La Tengo, they found a path and followed my nemesis with the flashlight, off the stage they went.

They came back to the stage for three more songs, ending on Neil Young’s “Prisoners of Rock ‘n’ Roll.” One night of Hanukkah remains. Ira has promised me that I can chop up his chair and use it for kindling. In fact, he’s encouraged it. I need to investigate Maxwell’s insurance policy, but something like a chair is probably covered.

I made my second trip out to Hoboken this week. It was night 6 of the Yo La Tengo Christmas shows. Only six more nights to go! My ears are still ringing from Pussy Galore two nights earlier, and some of that hearing, I fear, isn’t coming back. So tonight I came prepared. I put my earplugs in and make my way to the rear of the room where I like to set myself up near Joe Puleo over at the t-shirt table. There’s a bar stool back there and a bit more air and this is a good place for someone five foot tall to take in the show. The t-shirt area also serves as a sort of time out station where folks like Georgia’s sister Emily and her husband Will Rosenthal come to rest between acts.

No sooner do I get situated on my bar stool and Joe P is telling me he has a job for me. He hands me a notebook and pen and then says something about clogging. No way. Clogging is not my bag, but since I have this notebook, and I’m observant and good with facts and details, I agree to at least be the night’s reporter. (I figured when I started calling myself Scoop Reichardt back in the ’80s I might be tapped for this sort of thing.)

First, I’ll describe the joint. It’s a dark room with a low stage at the front, and a bar to the right. There’s a bald guy with smooth soft white skin sporting a red button-down shirt who sits by the door next to a blue light. People pay to enter, but once in a while someone puts their hand to this blue bug light, makes a fist, and waltzes in for free. This is all made more suspect by the fact that every now and then the pale red-shirt guy is replaced by another bald guy with soft white skin in an almost identical red shirt. Some kind of flimflam going on.

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

Then Ira comes over and whispers thank you for agreeing to clog tonight. Yeah, again, I’m not into that, but before I can tell him to count me out, Dump is on the stage. I know, I know, this reporter is asking herself the same question. How in the world did Yo La Tengo get Dump to play their Christmas night show? I guess everybody in this business has connections. In any case, it’s our good fortune and listening from my perch I forget all about my duties and just let myself get lost in the music (not in any kind of freaky arm-waving way, but just in a quiet-inside way). I’m in my zone. Enjoying myself along with everyone else in the room. It’s somewhere in the middle of the Prince cover tune, “Another Lonely Christmas” that the older, more disgruntled looking red-shirt-wearing door guy makes a beeline over to me. He’s shouting something I can’t make out, but I can clearly read his lips as he keeps repeating YOU SURE LOOK GOOD TONIGHT KELLY! I finally lean closer and take out the earplugs and it turns out what he is actually yelling in my face is YOU CAN’T STAND ON THAT STOOL! He yells it three more times in a really mean voice — like in the tone the fuzz has been using all fall when they’re yelling YOU CAN’T PITCH THAT TENT HERE! Wow, not the attitude I was expecting at a Christmas charity show featuring the sweet voice of James McNew and the soon-to-appear amateur cloggers. That’s cool. Before he whips out his pepper spray I step off my stool. I don’t even bother showing him my press credentials. You can’t reason with guys like this. I can hear the words “smaller than you are” wafting over the audience, but my view of the stage is now totally gone. I look over to Will Rosenthal who, five songs into the night, is already collapsed into a box of XXL shirts. He and Emily, who have been coming every night, are already all sweaty and looking like a dance team at the end of THEY SHOOT HORSES DON’T THEY. I ask Will who that crazy yelling guy is and he tells me it’s Mike Rosenberg.

I’m sure another reporter would have given up and gone home. Or maybe another reporter would have used this opportunity to scramble to the front. I can see the advantages in that — the energy off the crowd, the seeing of the band. In seven years of Christmas shows I’ve never been up close. True, I’ve never seen what goes on on stage left where Ira plays, but with that one small concession I’ve always been fine up on my stool. But this is the era of Homeland Security and helicopter parenting where we gotta all wear helmets and seat belts, refrain from sharing needles and not stand on bar stools blah blah blah. That’s cool, I’m not gonna let Rosenberg (aka The Man) get me down. I’m staying put here in the back and I’ll do my reporting from the ground, as they say.

9:18 David Grossman from Brooklyn announces that he has exact change but is unable to decide which of the two mixed CDs (Tim & Eric) to buy.

9:19 Zerek Chase from New York gets a large Peanuts shirt.

9:20 Brit formally from Nebraska wants to know if she can try on the small and bring it back if it’s too small.

9:22 David still asking everyone in earshot which CD he should buy.

9:34 Ira takes the stage and congratulates the Knits (a group I’™m not familiar with) and introduces Burt Bradler, the comedian of the night.

9:21 Joe P passes off shirt selling duties to Ira’s brother, Neil.

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

The comedian is on stage just as Neil himself is getting warmed up with such t-shirt greats as “Everything for half price!” and “Two shirt minimum,” then fueled by the crowd’s laughter for the comedian, “Twenty-five dollar restocking fee!”

Adam Garfunkel from Brooklyn — wait, Brooklyn?!? David is also from Brooklyn! With a CD in each hand, and exact change still in his pocket David from Brooklyn is meeting Adam from Brooklyn. Small world. Two Brooklyn guys ending up at the t-shirt table at a club in Jersey.

Brit is back and as it turns out the small is too small and she would just prefer to have an x-large sleeping shirt now that she thinks about it.

10:03 Joe returns with the iPhone clock. Comedy is over.

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

10:23 Yo La Tengo takes the stage. The great Tara Key joins them. Exact change David, in his excitement, sets down both CDs and disappears into the crowd.

I can see the top of an afro, the tip of a hat bopping up and down and James. I hear Ira’s voice as he introduces a song by the Kernels.

10:49 Sometimes I Don’t Get You

11:02 Gil takes the stage.

11:09 I’m Set Free

11:11 Rumors spread that The Boss will be making an appearance.

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

11:12 Georgia moves to center mic as Rachel joins Yo La on the stage. I ask Joe what Rachel’s last name is and he tells me to Google Bright Eyes when I get home. So here’s what I found out: Rachel is the owner of Bright Eyes Hairdressing & Day Spa and has been in the industry for over 12 years. She received the Principal’s Award at the highly renowned Pivot Point Hairdressing College and has since owned salons in Bridgewater and Shepparton, before opening at Riverside Plaza.

The weird thing is Rachel hung out by the t-shirt stand for a good amount of the night and never once mentioned that she played drums or did hair. I sort of figured out the drum part on my own because I spotted her air drumming through some of the comedian’s set, but the spa thing was a total surprise.

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

The band plays Nowhere Near, Moby Octopad, Nothing to Hide.

The crowd of mostly Jewish, middle-aged men are swaying, hands in pockets, heads nodding yes and no to the beat. The vibe is good.

11:50 Band leaves the stage.

11:52 Band returns. Ira introduces a Monkees song written by Carole King.

The whole night ends with a personal favorite, the Sun Ra ballad Dreaming.

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

It’s a great set. Another great night. Georgia’s singing kills me, and every year I really do get hit with this wave of love for these shows — for the music and the charities they support (tonight’s was Lawyers Committee for Civil Rights Under Law) and for being able to take part in something. I look around the room at the back of all these heads and think I bet we’ve all stood here many times together and shared other nights like this one. We are all connected and it’s a really beautiful thing. We’ve survived 2011, which was a pretty challenging year. But here we are still standing. And there’s still a lot to be thankful for. So Merry Christmas, Yo La Tengo and a very Merry Christmas to you, Mr. Rosenberg.

Merry Christmas, Hanukkah fans. It’s three a.m. on Christmas morning and Tara and I just returned from Hoboken from night 5 of the Yo La Tengo stand (with a brief detour to the Lyric Diner on Third Avenue at 22nd). Though my first time at Maxwell’s this holiday, I have been bemused from afar at the collection of YLT collaborator-guitarists — including Dave Rick, Mac McCaughan, and Tara — all confounded this week wondering what they would be doing onstage at Maxwell’s. Would it be the usual encore call-up, when Ira will tell you what the song is when you get on stage and maybe give you one or two chords while saying, “You’ll figure it out,” and then you turn to James for clues? Or would they actually have to KNOW THE SONGS!?

photo credit: Stephen Hunking // click for bigger version

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

My bemusement turned to alarm when Ira and YLT troubleshooter, Suzanne, asked me to blog the gig, resulting in my remaining in one place in Maxwell’s for three amazing sets, two music and one comedy, while standing my ground with some admirable holiday stamina. To start, the Glands from Georgia were so cool! I saw them play with the Condo Fucks a month ago and have heard them on record, but I wish I could do them more justice by knowing their songs. The first thing that stands about them is their perfect craftsmanship, with passages, bridges or transitions, for example, that only happen once, always a good sign. Certain moments in their music sound to me like classic-pop something, but I can’t quite grasp what they are referencing, exemplars of genres that only consist of that particular song. To put it another way, they just sort of effortlessly throw off suggestions of entire possible pop genres. Hey does that make any sense? Well, come on, it’s now 3:30 in the morning! The drummer sounds like he wants to tell you something new in every song, plays with a crispness that makes you want to sit up. And the bass player! I was mesmerized by the way the bass in the Glands really informs the identity of the songs, bopping and syncopating to make sprightly pop tunes and then kicking it in hard to a solid groove whenever they let go. Yeah, OK, I play bass.

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

photo credit: Stephen Hunking // click for bigger version

Next up was The Man In the Green Mask (Jon Glaser) who explained that his act would consist of an introductory statement, a joke, a story, and a Q&A. The equanimity of that description belies the hilarity of what was about to ensue. Or something like that, G. When he got to the Q&A, he insisted that each question be proceeded by, “Man in the Green Mask,” or he would move on to the next. The first guy didn’t do it and a mini-riot broke out. At some point, a woman asked, “Is Die Hard a Christmas movie?” flummoxing the Man, who declared it the best question he’d ever been asked. When the final questioner began, “Man in the Iron Mask…,” the scene broke apart and the act came to an abrupt end.

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

Yo La Tengo came on with Tara Key a little while later and quietly started a trilogy of some of their most beautiful melodies. First, Ira began singing a quiet, muted version of “Big Day Coming” with both Tara and Ira on keyboards and James on bass, while Georgia wafted sonically on the guitar. (This would be followed later in the set by Big Loud Big Day Coming.) Though our lives have intertwined for nearly 30 years, I will try to limit myself in all things YLT/ Maxwell’s to one single historical note, which in this case is that I played bass on the first version that YLT ever performed of “Big Day Coming” on this very stage, and Tara is standing behind the organ where I was standing about 20 years ago. OK, enough of that, kids!

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

Then Georgia moved to the drums and James sang a superb “Stockholm Syndrome” accompanied by Tara’s raucous guitar solo in the middle where she proved she has the fastest wrist in the West. Then Ira played the lovely three-note guitar thing on “Crying of Lot G” and sang the breathy, haunting vocal.

The band continued in that quieter mode, alternately haunting and eerie or sprightly and jubilant; first with “Demons” from the soundtrack to I Shot Andy Warhol, in which last night’s quartet played the party scene as a sort-of Velvet Underground (see the movie for Georgia’s striped shirt and Tara’s orange guitar). Then came this cool weird, stretched-out version of “Upside Down” followed by Ira’s Thelonius-izing piano on “Beanbag Chair” and the duet “If It’s True” with Georgia. And finally, James sang “I’m On My Way” (hey, is that a Homer Simpson tribute? You know the scene where Marge tells Homer to pick up Bart at soccer practice and Homer is lying on the couch watching Wheel of Fortune and doesn’t move a muscle as he says…) with the minor chord change that pulls at me the same way as the theme to You Only Live Twice.

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

This was really something special happening here. I have seen YLT perform for a quarter of a century. There are so many characteristic things that they do that sound so familiar that it is hard to recall the moment when they invented them. It’s like what people say about Wordsworth’s poetry and Godard‘s jump-cutting: it’s hard to see how momentous they were because they changed everything. I’m thinking of those YLT moments, the rhetoric of YLT if you will: Ira breaking out of a pealing shriek of feedback into a riff, Georgia straight-arming the snare into attention (“Let’s pick this up and rock, gentlemen”) like John Starks coming into the game, or my favorite move, James playing a bass riff over and over, daring you to think he is going to change, tempting you to thinkitisabouttochangenonotyetithastonowitisabouttonoitisnotgoingtochangenotyet.

With a version of “Double Dare” with both Ira and James on acoustic, and with Tara on electric, the band began to chart a different direction. “Five-Cornered Drone (Crispy Duck)” followed with soaring exchanges of leads. Tara and Ira were really taking off by this point in the set in their axe interplay (which by the way, suffered not a bit from Ira’s sitting down). Then Tara sang Antietam’s “The Orange Song” which I wrote once upon a time (no, that doesn’t count as an historical note!). Yo La Tengo’s version is pretty much the same as Antietam’s version though there continue to be small controversies on the details. Two YLT classics followed, with Georgia’s always-sensational vocal on “Decora” leading into the full-on rocked-up big version of “Big Day Coming.”

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

The next “song” was their cover of “Little Honda,” with the middle of it going into the passage of white noise with James attacking his stack with his bass over his head, and Tara and Ira disappearing from view into respective heaps of feedback. (You know how on Metal Machine Music on side 3, it kind of dips and then goes through that part where…). The passage ramped up to a caterwauling, dramatic pitch before jumping back into “Little Honda” to close the set.

For an encore, as a nod to the other holiday they covered “Rock N Roll Santa” and this was really at about midnight on Christmas Eve so Santa may have been getting his sleigh towed on Washington about right then.

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

photo credit: Stephen Hunking // click for bigger version

Tara had received an officially sanctioned YLT text earlier in the day instructing her to learn “Night Moves” and she rashly wondered if Seger would be there, but I knew that if he had been, Ira would’ve made him do “2+2=?” So it turned out Jon Glaser returned as Jon from Delocated, his Adult Swim show about a man in the witness protection program, and sang “Night Moves” and, well, despite the fact that Glaser continued to be hilarious while cutting a ridiculous figure in his second mask of the night, I believe it was the best version of that song I’ve ever heard.

YLT closed the night with the ineffable “Yellow Sarong” by Chris Nelson and The Scene Is Now, and it was a really special show. I have to go to sleep now. I have a deadline in the morning!

Note: Earlier this month, Tara and I paid a visit to Letha Rodman Melchior in Durham, NC, where Letha is fighting gamely through some serious medical issues. YLT’s hard work on Friday will really help Letha out. It is so damn cool to do these benefits! And in my concentration on the show, I’m not sure who benefitted last night! [Editor’s note: It was the Tommy Brull Foundation. The mix cd was compiled by Mr. Fine Wine.] Hope you enjoy the last three nights of Hanukkah.

When it comes to the YLT Hanukkah shows I am generally in favor of not knowing what other acts will be filling out the bill on the comedy or musical side of things. Yes, that has led to nights of abject crisis where I am told after the fact that I missed Peter Wolf joining Hoboken’s Finest, but it has also led to some pleasant surprises, all of which currently escape me because I’m writing this directly after the show — the clock on the wall says it’s coming up on three in the a.m. I would write it tomorrow but I celebrate The Other Holiday that happens around this time of year and have to be out the door super early. MY LIFE IS SO GLAMOROUS, RIGHT?

But occasionally I will trip over a tip-off on who is playing — I swear I don’t go looking for the info but people like to talk! Information is power in this sick age we live in, and being able to lord a prime piece of knowledge over others is The Name Of The Game. I found out from someone about a month or so ago that Pussy Galore would be reforming for tonight’s show. I did not believe it, but it made sense when Julie Cafritz told people on Facebook that she would be “spending Hanukkah celebrating it the old fashioned way at a Yo La Tengo show” on December 23rd. It’s like NATIONAL TREASURE up in this piece with all these puzzles and riddles and such!

But I quietly got confirmation that it was indeed true and then promptly sat on the knowledge for the last month. Did it make me feel in any way “special” to know something that others didn’t? NOT AT ALL. Because the whole point of knowing something that others don’t is to LET ONE OR TWO OR TEN PEOPLE IN ON IT. So if anything I have proven that I have “what it takes” to protect a secret. So EVERYBODY SHOULD TELL ME EVERYTHING! (Not everything. Only the “good stuff.”)

I listened to RIGHT NOW! and SUGARSHIT SHARP all day yesterday in preparation for the show. There was a part of me that was worried whether they wouldn’t be able to pick up where they left off. Time moves on, people change, they get better at their instruments, they lose a little bit of the rawness and anger that made those records just explode.

photo credit: Dawn Sutter Madell // click for bigger version

photo credit: Dawn Sutter Madell // click for bigger version

But Pussy Galore did not disappoint AT ALL. They hit the stage and did not let up for a second. The band — Jon Spencer, Julie Cafritz, Kurt Wolf and Bob Bert — kicked it off with “You Look Like a Jew” from GROOVY HATE FUCK and powered through fifteen or so songs in about a half hour. Spencer laid off the mic between songs but the smile that overtook his face throughout the show spoke volumes.

photo credit: Dawn Sutter Madell // click for bigger version

They were so forceful and unrepentant. They did the legacy proud and I hope they aren’t ready to go away just yet — the kids of today need a band like Pussy Galore to teach them that it is okay to hate things and to yell about them but you can do it with humor and artistry. One of the greatest bands of the 80s just saw their legend grow a little bit tonight.

The only thing that could’ve made their set any better was if the dude in front of me wasn’t spending half the show reading Neil Haggerty’s Wikipedia page. Look, we all want to learn more about our favorite rockers who AREN’T IN THE LINEUP of the once-in-a-lifetime reunion, but maybe we can wait ’til after the once-in-a-lifetime reunion is finished to do it? Just a thought. People gotta realize that cell phone glow kills the person standing behind them.

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

While I knew that PG was on the bill, I was pleasantly surprised to see the mighty Todd Barry was delivering the comedy. Todd is a longtime participant in the Hanukkah shows (and his presence promises he’ll do some drumming during YLT’s encore) and he most definitely Brought It during his rock solid thirty-plus minute set.

There is almost nothing more satisfying to me than watching Todd work over an audience member. He might be the most devastatingly great off-the-cuff comedian I have ever seen, and watching him dismantle a blabbermouth who kept interrupting his jokes was pure gold. Look, I wish that the crowd would learn to zip their lips and let a guy like Todd do his Actual Material. But it’s a treat to watch someone get served up at the hands of someone with as much precision as Barry. He also pointed out that Terre T — the host of WFMU’s Cherry Blossom Clinic — had the best laugh of the night. Game recognizes game!

I hustled out to the dining room to eat a quick dinner with Todd-O-Phonic Todd. We talked about the finer things in life, which means we talked living our lives through our sad fantasy sports teams. Then the rumble could be heard from the other room and YLT was underway!

It is easy to take things for granted in life, especially when they are seemingly always there. And Yo La Tengo is one of those things. They have been so consistently great for so long that they just become a part of the fabric of existence. You just assume they’re not going anywhere.

And YLT is definitely one of those things for a lot of people. But pull YLT from the active roster (fantasy sports infiltrates everything!) and you’ll be on your knees begging for one more show, one more album, one more anything from a band that has done nothing but be perfect for decade after decade. Yes, you should get excited about your new bands! That is what being a fan is about! But don’t do it at the expense of the legends, especially when they work so hard at being great. I cannot think of an act that gleefully pushes the margins the way they do, trying to find out where the edges to their abilities lay.

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

The band was joined by Dave Rick — former YLT, Bongwater, Phantom Tollbooth and more, one of the best guitarists in the biz — for the entirety of the set. Ira was able to just fill it up from his chair — apparently he threw his back out in a Tough Man contest a few weeks ago — and I will never stop marveling over how talented James McNew is. I know I’m getting all sorts of Sammy Maudlin on you here but I don’t care.

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

There were so many high points to the night, among them being revisiting “Serpentine” from NEW WAVE HOT DOGS, a driving version of “Black Flowers” and the band dipping into a pair of songs that Bongwater covered to great effect: The Monkees’ “Porpoise Song” and Roky Erickson’s “You Don’t Love Me Yet”, which was sung beautifully by Georgia (even though I think she had a lyric cheat sheet up there!). The Roky song featured Rachel Blumberg (M. Ward/art) sitting in while Georgia stepped up to the mic.

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

Todd Barry did indeed join YLT for some tub thumping on Blue Öyster Cult’s “This Ain’t the Summer of Love.” They ended with “Crush” by the Tall Dwarfs, the second of two nods to the designer of the evening’s playlist Chris Knox (having played “Coloured” during the set). And boom it was over and it is now 4:00 AM and I have to go to bed because I have to do all my Christmas shopping tomorrow and does anybody know if there’s an artisanal iPhone case maker in the tri-state area because my daddy wants his phone to look like he’s holding a Hot Pocket against his ear.

And the charity of the night was the Letha Melchior Rodman Cancer Fund, a very deserving cause to help out a great person. You can get more information by going to http://melchiorfund.blogspot.com/.

Night 3, 12/22/11by Ariella Stok

It’s with some consternation that I embark on the heavy task of writing the Hanukkah diary entry for night 3. Those are some big Converse sneakers to fill, and I can’t help but wonder, why me? But as any Kabbalah student worth their salt will tell you, every letter of the alphabet contains a hidden meaning, and if you take the first three letters of my name, spell them backwards, and try not to get spooked by the result, you’ll see why I am just the right person to guide you through the unforgettable magic that was night three. In yesterday’s diary, Gaylord attempted to make a case for the spiritual importance of Hanukkah’s second night (something about Maccabees and oil), and yet we all know that three is the magic number. But that’s enough Jewish mysticism for one diary entry. On to the entertainment!

My night had started off with a whimper when I discovered that my evening’s ticket, for which I had meticulously lined up at Other Music on 11:59 AM on the date of sale just a month prior, was missing. As I upended every piece of furniture that wasn’t bolted down, and turned my place upside-down searching for my missing proof of entry, I felt a pang of sympathy for all those Pavement fans who had bought tickets a year in advance to their recent reunion concert, and then were faced with having to remember where they’d been stashed a full calendar later. Talk about a dick in my ass (my new favorite expression, courtesy of night two’s comedian, Bobcat Goldthwait)! I found the sucker in a laundry bag full of dirty clothes. Clearly, I had some master plan last month that has managed to elude the me of today.

After that scare, I was happier than ever to be safely inside the warm embrace of Maxwell’s once again, ready to experience the brand new sounds of the Lee Ranaldo Band, who would be playing their third show ever to open the show. The set consisted of mostly new songs from Lee’s forthcoming Matador solo joint, but the stage was filled with familiar faces: fellow Sonic Youth, Steve Shelley on drums, and on second guitar, Alan Licht, Lee’s collaborator in the awesome live score-improvising, Texts of Light, who are not to be missed on the rare occasions that they play. It was a real treat to witness the birth of Lee’s new project, and experience his new songs while still in the flush of infancy (one song was written just a few weeks ago, Lee told us, inspired by attending an Occupy Wall Street protest). And if you know Lee’s other bands like I do, where he is just as likely to be using a mallet to strike the strings of a guitar that is suspended from the ceiling by a spring, as playing it in the conventional fashion, with a pick, and wearing a guitar strap, you might have been as disoriented as I was to hear this band of noiseniks gleefully unearthing a Monkees cover. My expectations pleasantly confounded, the band later became familiar once again, playing Sonic Youth rarity, “Genetic,” a song that’s available on a CD single from 1992, and also the My So-Called Life soundtrack. The set left me energized for the future.

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

Once Lee and his heavy friends cleared the stage, it was time for one of my favorite parts of the show: when Georgia gets up on stage to set up her drums, accompanied by the band’s crack crew of techs (Gil, Mark, some other guys who have managed to avoid my requests for the prized post-show setlist) as they tap on mics and line-check to make sure all 500 pieces of gear on stage are plugged in correctly. I could watch Yo La Tengo set up and break down their gear all night long and never get bored, and perhaps if you’ve ever seen their Hal Hartley-directed video for “From a Motel 6” you know just what I’m talking about. I spent the setbreak ogling ins and outs, and making sure the hood of my sweatshirt had not been â€˜cadoed. After a bit of confusion, with the band trying to hunt down the evening’s comedian, only discover he had been waiting patiently at the merch table the entire time, Ted Alexandro was brought to the stage for the comedy portion of the evening. He opened with a story that brought the evening’s second mention of Occupy Wall Street, proving once and for all that Yo La Tengo’s Hanukkah shows are indeed topical and relevant, especially to us 99-percenters. I really appreciated his defense of singledom, and agree: why settle for Blockbuster when you can hold out for Netflix?

After much laughter and affirming of life choices, Yo La Tengo took to the stage, starting the show off as a trio for the first time this Hanukkah with the breathtakingly gorgeous instrumental “Nutricia.” Just when I think I can’t appreciate James’s bass playing any more than I already do, they go and pull that one out of the hat. Goddamn!

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

What followed was what I regard to be the sweet crack of the hardcore YLT junkie, a heretofore-unheard-by-me alternate arrangement of YLT concert standard, “Sugarcube,” where the band once again managed to take a song I thought I knew inside and out and breathe brand new life into it. They would deploy such measures again with a re-imagined version of “Decora?” later in the set.

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

Around the time when they reached into the wayback machine to pull out “Lewis,” a song off YLT’s second album, New Wave Hot Dogs, Ira complained that he was getting sick of sitting down. And sure enough, by the next song, he was standing at the Nord (fully programmed with all your favorite Ace Tone organ sounds) for “Periodically Double or Triple.”

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

Next, Alan Licht returned to the stage to front the band on “Doesn’t Anybody Love the Dark,” a song from Run On’s excellent 1996 LP, Start Packing (which I am listening to right now as I write.)

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

The next thing that happened was that the Hanukkah wish I didn’t even know I had came true when Lee Ranaldo and Steve Shelley joined the other four on stage for a return to the YLT songbook with “Last Days of Disco.” Despite the clutch of people on stage, not quite a minyan, but double the usual body count, the sixsome burnished this hushed song’s subtleties effortlessly, as though they’d been playing together all their lives, or at the very least, as though they had rehearsed — a luxury that many of this year’s guests so far have made sure to note that had been forgone. Whether this represents a new commitment to aleatoric music-making, or simply a running out of time, I am not complaining!

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

Next, Georgia stepped up to the mic, surrendering the drum throne to Steve Shelley, for a seasonal number, “Fourth Time Around.” When she sang the words of noted Jewish songwriter, Bob Dylan, “I didn’t ask for your crutch, so don’t ask for mine,” I forgot all about the “Norwegian Wood” Dylan-Beatles politics, and felt the words” immediacy right in my gut.

photo credit: Liz Clayton // click for bigger version

Lee Ranaldo took a breather, and the best seat in the house, sitting right on the stage in front of James, to watch the band rock out a version of “Double Dare” with the addition of his bandmate on second drumkit, before the full crew returned to tear into one of the most powerful set closers, and proper segues of recent memory, wherein a taut and wiry version of Sonic Youth’s “Mote” was melded seamlessly into “Pass the Hatchet,” a beautiful pairing that contained at its center a startlingly magnificent noise jam whose crystalline sheets of noise had me thinking Wall of Sound thoughts, a reference to neither the Stanley Owsley-built multichannel sound system that the Grateful Dead toured with in 1974, nor the Phil Spector production technique, but its own wonderful thing. I am pretty sure it’s a piece of music that no one who was there to experience it (nor the hundreds who have already watched the video on YouTube not 12 hours later) will be forgetting any time soon.

What a way to end night three, the most magical and important of all the eight nights of Hanukkah. Thank you to Georgia, James, and Ira for entrusting me to report on such a special night. It’s all downhill from here.

All night long between acts, we enjoyed the sounds of Kid Koala’s mix CD, and all the proceeds from the evening’s ticket sales were donated to Clean Ocean Action, an organization dedicated to cleaning up the polluted waters of the New Jersey/New York coast, and who can probably use all the help they can get.

Bending the rules ever so slightly, Georgia was kind enough a few days ago to give me a tip that it may be a good idea for me to attend this, the second of Yo La Tengo’s 2011 Hanukkah shows. So yesterday when Ira asked me if I was willing to write up the proceedings for this diary, I realized they had Godfathered me.

Don’t misunderstand: I’m especially proud to be assigned the second night of the Jewish holiday, because it’s the most important one. After all, on the original first night almost two millennia ago, there was no “there” there, to quote Gertrude Stein. What’s worth placing pen to papyrus about one day’s oil burning for one day? It’s the second day’s odd turn of events that made Maccabee 1 say to Maccabee 2, “I don’t want to jinx it, but that oil has been burning a mighty long time. I’m gonna monitor this situation.”

photo credit: Stephen Hunking // click for bigger version

photo credit: Liz Clayton

The opening act was Yo La Tengo’s former practice space mates Spent, who reunited just for the occasion. The Jersey City quartet played forty-five minutes of superbly swell ones from their brace of mid-’90s Merge LPs, but not before announcing, “We are not Real Estate, though we may resemble them on occasion.” I need to find out more about Real Estate. They seem topical.

photo credit: Stephen Hunking // click for bigger version

photo credit: Liz Clayton

Tonight’s comedian extraordinaire, Bobcat Goldthwait, let us know during the course of his act that not only is he is not dead, but also that he is not Sam Kinison, Meat Loaf with a haircut or “the black guy who does the sound effects in the Police Academy movies.” Doesn’t matter, because his imitation of a plummeting aircraft didn’t need to be Michael Winslow realistic to sell the spit-takingly hysterical true story he closed his set with about almost dying while sharing a flight with a Special Olympics team.

The Bobcat’s now a respected filmmaker with critically lauded movies like World’s Greatest Dad under his belt and rarely does standup anymore, so he needlessly apologized for the datedness of his references. If he thinks he owed the room anything for making a joke comparing Henry Rollins to Sgt. Carter (older than this, and this), he is sorely mistaken. That phrase the fraternity of comedians use, “He killed,” applied in heaps.

photo credit: Stephen Hunking // click for bigger version

photo credit: Liz Clayton

Yo La Tengo were a bit sheepish about following that tour de force, even with Georgia talismanically sporting a “We Print Anything” T-shirt that had swamp pop singer-drummer Warren Storm’s name on it. No need to fret, as they arrived fortified with guitar assistance by the incomparable Smokey Hormel, whom someone should set up to do a weekly residence Ã la Les Paul somewhere. Starting off with a fabulous foursome of “Green Arrow,” “We’re an American Band,” “The Weakest Part” and “Here to Fall,” they set up the moment that got me the hot tip from Georgia:

photo credit: Stephen Hunking // click for bigger version

photo credit: Liz Clayton

photo credit: Liz Clayton

photo credit: Liz Clayton

Neil Everloving Innes! Ron Nasty, the Seventh Python, the Gonzo Bonzo (okay, they were all pretty gonzo) joined the band stage center to give us a master’s class in how to write and perform songs with wit, skill, heart and not a little vitriol for seasoning. Mixing Rutles classics like “Let’s Be Natural” and “Ouch!” with wry political takedowns like “Democracy” and the OWS 99%-sympathetic “Never Alone,” he was a paradoxically refreshing mix of pop provocateur and proper English gent. The Dadaist hoedown of “I’m the Urban Spaceman,” for which Ira got the medical all-clear to play the kazoo, was a perfect valedictory to this tiny taste of the man’s musical genius.

And being the gent that he is, Innes stayed put, lending a helping hand during the Yo La Tengo-centric rest of the set, including closers “Autumn Sweater” and an unrelenting “Story of Yo La Tango.”

photo credit: Liz Clayton

photo credit: Liz Clayton

And now The Godfather Request, Part II: Earlier in the evening, Ira asks me if I remembered the words to “My Little Red Book.” For the sake of the telling of the story, I replied, “About as well as Arthur Lee did” and not “Yeah, sure.” So I guess I’m to be the encore/room clearer. We had done the song during one of last year’s Hanukkah shows, so rehearsal, shmehearsal! When the time came, I braced one knee on the great Neil Innes’ piano stool and croaked my way through the Bacharach-David classic. Maxwell’s impresario Todd Abramson told me afterward that his dream of hearing the lead singer of the Novas fronting Love had finally come true.

It was more like a collective beautiful waking dream when Georgia sang one of John Cale’s loveliest, “Hanky Panky Nohow,” to end things on a less Cookie Monsterish vocal note.

photo credit: Liz Clayton

The night’s designated charitable organization was the International Relief Teams, which provides humanitarian assistance worldwide. A sign announced that the night’s mix CD was prepared by James. I was mostly relieved but also slightly disappointed to find out it was our very own Mr. McNew and not the ’90s Britpop band.

Don’t worry, brave Maccabee soldiers, about this being only the second of eight nights: Yo La Tengo are like that little pan of oil that could.

There’s nothing a cub reporter loves — and fears — more than being tapped for that crack assignment. So when Ira tapped me (literally, he tapped me, it was awfully loud in Maxwell’s and hard to get people’s attention) mid-opening band to pen tonight’s inaugural 2011 Yo La Tengo Hanukkah show’s diary, I thought: I’ve made it to the big time! I’ve at long last been recognized for my true journalistic prowess! But no, I realized as the night unfolded like a delicious, marinara-soaked, breaded steak sandwich — I was selected by accident of birth, by my native Chicagoan-ness.

And once the night’s theme became revealed it did not relent. Chicago’s own The Sea and Cake took the stage first, in a loud incarnation of their raucous, poppy, measured take on post-Chicago-post-rock. Or was it pre? Speaking of Pre, I stood close enough to Sam Prekop during the set to get a glimpse of his now-signature lyric cheat sheets (please, people, stop stealing these from poor Sam) and guess what? The words don’t make any more sense written down than they do mumbled! As a Chicagoan questioning my own abilities to discern another native’s take on the local language anymore, I found this immensely relieving. The snappy set was over all too quickly, leaving the audience wanting more — and wondering, “is that lyric really ‘Fat Archer’?”

photo credit: Liz Clayton

Now, we all knew in advance that this year’s Hanukkah shows might feel a little different, so it was with stoicism we took Ira’s announcement that tonight’s scheduled comedy act — Hanukkah favorites Dennis Farina and Dennis Franz — had cancelled at the last minute. But as we’ve all seen before, Hanukkah miracles DO happen: their able sons, DAVE Farina and DAVE Franz, were able to step in at the last minute. Boy was I starting to feel at home! More Chicagoans in the house, asking tough, philosophical questions like “If Urge Overkill got into a van crash with Buddy Guy, which one would you save?” (And if you can’t figure out that answer for yourself, I’ll spare you their reasoned thinking.) Other similar dilemmas — The Sea and Cake vs. Chicago (the band)? Shellac vs. Mike Ditka? — only went to show that for sons who grew up in the spectre of such luminous talents as their fathers, they aren’t afraid to venture into psychologically haunting territory (including an impassioned plea against circumcision — I haven’t been this palpably uncomfortable since Marc Maron’s set last Hanukkah). A brief review of the night’s previous act pegged The Sea And Cake as “cumbersome”, or was it “plodding”, but if that’s the case, Farina and Franz quickened both the pace of the night and the pulses of the ladies. I just don’t understand — why was everybody making fun of their accents? Sounded normal to me.

photo credit: Liz Clayton

I’ve always sorta thought of Yo La Tengo as honorary Chicagoans, so when they took the stage it was almost like I was back at Lounge Ax again, only with even worse parking. Joined by longtime Yo La auxilliary force Mac McCaughan of Superchunk, the band launched quickly into a raucous “8 Days a Week”, followed by various bittersweet versions of bittersweeter songs like “Stockholm Syndrome” and “Tears Are In Your Eyes” before turning things Upside Down and screeching into a cover of Portastatic’s “Noisy Night” (man I forgot how great that record was!) Soon Mac and McNew were bolstered in Macness by Sea and Cake drummer John McEntire for a couple of numbers, balancing the teetering plaid quotient onstage back to something more equitable.

photo credit: Liz Clayton

photo credit: Liz Clayton

photo credit: Liz Clayton

After a Mac-guitar-heavy “Drug Test” and a skittery little arrangement of “Tom Courtenay”, The Sea and Cake’s Prekop and Archer Prewitt returned to the stage (plaid balance tips again) for a particularly intense version of “I Heard You Looking”. I know that Sam Prekop gives off an air of mild-manneredness, but his guitar strings were putting out some next-level, Satriani shit here. I believe I literally saw smoke coming off of his gentle, midwestern hands.

photo credit: Liz Clayton

photo credit: Liz Clayton

Though the band stayed on stage for another (“Our Way to Fall”), I’m going to count “I Heard You Looking” as the symbolic end of the first set — thus elevating the closing songs, in my mind, to true “second encore” status. And what better status to confer a cover of the Coctails’ “Abba Dabba”? Not only was Yo La Tengo lucky enough to get an appearance not only by ex-Coctail Prewitt — but they managed to track down the song’s original vocalist, T. Lance. I believe I heard actual glass break in the other room when T. hit that note… several times. Closing out the night, a cover of “Somebody’s in Love” put a period on the first chapter of this year’s even sweeter, extra-appreciated set of Hanukkah shows.

Though tonight’s charitable cause, New Jersey’s Roots and Wings, which helps young adults to transition out of foster care, was not specifically Chicagoan, it seemed worthy as all get out (and perhaps some teens transition from New Jersey to Chicagoland?). Thanks as well to Bob Odenkirk — Naperville, Illinois’ favorite son — for furnishing the evening’s soothing mix CD.